A Little Unwell
by nottoocrazy
Summary: Cecil Palmer is a patient in a mental institution, living in a world in his mind that he calls "Night Vale". Carlos is the new psychiatrist that Cecil falls in love with.
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR NOTE: This is one of my _Welcome To Night Vale_ headcanons... pretty far fetched, perhaps, but I thought it'd make for a good AU. Eventual Cecilos, but it won't be getting smutty.**

* * *

_-PROLOGUE-_

Cecil Palmer was only 19 years old when his mother noticed there was definitely something not right about her son. He'd graduated from high school with honors a year before, in 1997, but had refused any and all opportunities to attend the various universities that sent him offers in the mail. At first, Tracy wrote this off as her son wanting to be independent, refusing a higher education and claiming he was perfectly capable of learning things by himself. But when July of 1998 came around and Cecil couldn't hold down a job long enough to be able to live on his own, the single mother became concerned. She'd asked her son why he'd been fired from the various jobs, and each time he'd nonchalantly explain that his boss deemed him "distracted", "obsessive", or "delusional". One even went so far as to tell him he was "just plain odd". Tracy never pressed the issue. She never had time to, as Cecil would retreat to his room, and begin talking to himself, sometimes quite loudly. Her son had always had a habit of thinking out loud, but Ms. Palmer knew it was getting a bit more extreme.

Tracy wanted to hint at Cecil getting a job one evening, placing their conservative dinner of macaroni and cheese on the table. The truth was, she didn't make enough money to properly support two people. Working full-time at their neighborhood supermarket, she could really use Cecil's help. But she didn't get the chance to say anything before Cecil sat down and looked up at her, beaming.

"I have some exciting news, Mother!" Cecil announced cheerily as his mother took a seat across from him. He didn't wait for her to ask before gushing, "I've been promoted!"

Tracy looked up at her son, eyes narrowing. "Oh? At... at what job?"

Cecil couldn't stop beaming. "The radio station! I know what you're thinking. I've only been with the station for, well, less than a year. But, they listened to some of my recordings, considered my ideas, and they've given me a show! Wanna know what it's called?"

"I..."

"'Welcome to Night Vale'," Cecil said in a deep voice, his face only serious for a few seconds before that blissful smile returned. "Can you believe it?! I get to run what's going to be the biggest... I'm the new voice of the town!"

It took Ms. Palmer a few moments to process her son's words. "...We live in Seattle," she finally said, searching Cecil's face for a sign that this was some silly joke.

Shaking his head, the enthusiastic teen chuckled at his mother. "Mom, don't be silly, now. You know we're in Night Vale, the nicest little desert town you could ever-"

"You were born and raised in Washington, Cecil!" Ms. Palmer was holding back tears, her heart sinking deeper into her chest as she shouted at her startled son.

"How could... How could you say that?" Cecil whispered, looking up at his mother with a scowl. "_How could you say that_?!"

At Cecil's increasingly angry tone, Tracy stood from the table and fled to her room where she could have a panic attack without worrying her already upset son.

When the pressure in her chest finally let up, she crawled into her bed and prayed Cecil would be normal the next day.

* * *

"_Nowhere is safe. Not your house. Not your local supermarket. Not even your own mind. Welcome to Night Vale. _

_We have some strange news, listeners. You may have noticed, it's been raining in our dear desert city. Members of Night Vale's Inexplicable Desert Rainfall Research Team have sent in reports, which I am, unfortunately, prohibited from sharing with you, or even knowing about, myself._"

Ms. Palmer tuned out, setting her son's tape recorder down as she dropped to a seat on Cecil's bed. She'd sent him to get groceries so she could search his room for what she'd hoped would contain some sign of sanity from her son. What she'd found, instead, were dozens of tapes containing nonsense about some surreal desert town that didn't exist.

One week later, Cecil Palmer had a scheduled appointment with a psychiatrist. This wasn't completely against his will, as he'd agreed to go to make his mother happy, and to prove that he was, he assured her, "perfectly sane".

"How long has he been doing this?" the psychiatrist, Mrs. Hayes, asked as she took off her headphones and set the cassette tape player on her desk.

"The first tape dates back to September of last year," Ms. Palmer provided, adding quickly when the other woman widened her eyes, "but they weren't as bad as the more recent ones." Tracy followed the psychiatrist's glance toward Cecil, sitting patiently in the waiting room, hands in his lap. "He's never been violent. He'd never hurt anyone. But...," she looked down.

"But you're sensing that he might?" Mrs. Hayes offered.

"No, no," Tracy said quickly. "No. I just... he can't hold down a job. And now, he thinks he already has one. I don't know what to do with him. I can't afford..." She began to cry.

Reaching across the desk, the psychiatrist placed a hand on Ms. Palmer's shaking shoulder. "I'm going to prescribe your son some medication," she said. "It can take a few weeks to do its job, or he may not respond to antipsychotics. We'll discuss that when and if we get there."

* * *

Cecil refused to take the medication at first, adamant that he didn't need it. Ms. Palmer finally tricked him into taking it, hiding it in his food for a week before insisting that he take it willingly.

Everything seemed fine for the first two weeks. Tracy never heard her son talking to himself in his room, and she began to believe it was all okay again.

Then, 4 days into the third week, Cecil's mother was awakened by a blood-curdling scream. She rushed into her son's room, flipping on the light only to be greeted with the sight of Cecil hunched over on the floor, cradling his side. Deep red blood was trickling down his hands and darkening his Seattle Mariners t-shirt.

"I... I thought," he strained to explain through clenched teeth. "I thought I was one of the 53 percent." He sucked in a pained breath as his mother dropped to his side, assessing the wound. "One of the ones without pain-sensing nerves."

"What were you _thinking_?!" Tracy shouted through distressed tears, glancing at a bloody kitchen knife by Cecil's legs. She reached for the phone on his bedside table.

"There was... a potentially fatal growth...," Cecil said. "Had to... cut it off."

Tracy held her son until the ambulance arrived, too shocked to say anything besides whispering, "It's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine. It's okay."

* * *

"I'm glad to see he's doing alright," the hospital's psychiatrist said, standing beside a sleeping Cecil's bed.

Ms. Palmer looked up from where she sat in the chair next to her son. She nodded at the man. "It was a deep wound, but they say it will heal in time." She sounded exhausted, her worried eyes distant and dark.

"You said he was on an antipsychotic?" the psychiatrist asked.

"Hm? Oh. Yes. It was supposed to be working right by now, but..."

"Your son doesn't seem to respond to medication, Mrs. Palmer," the man said solemnly.

"Ms. Palmer," Tracy muttered. "It's Ms. Palmer. He's... he's all I have." She turned to look at her son, holding back tears as she whispered, "What else is there to do?"

* * *

_-ONE MONTH LATER-_

"Please, please don't leave me here, Mom!" Cecil was sobbing, reaching desperately for his mother's arm as the orderlies held him back. "Let me go," he shouted, twisting and turning out of their grip. "Mom!" He managed to free himself and ran toward his mother, who turned around and embraced him while he clung to her tightly.

"P-please don't leave me here," he whispered, yelping when more of the hospital staff came to grip his arms.

"I love you, Cecil," Ms. Palmer said in a broken whisper, unable to meet her son's eyes. "I'll visit you, I promise."

* * *

**AUTHOR NOTE: The whole fic won't be this depressing, I promise. I apologize for any and all incorrectness regarding mental institutions. I'm doing research but there's a lot I just won't be able to know. So. Bear with me, if you will. Actually, any and all help, suggestions, and reviews would be appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 1: First Day

_-15 YEARS LATER-_

It was Carlos' first day on the job.

He'd been hassled in the past few years by family and friends for his decision to ditch his career as a research scientist and return to college. But Carlos didn't care what they thought. And now, at 36, he was ready to take a job as a psychiatrist at a mental institution in Washington. He'd always been interested in how the mind works, and, no longer finding meaning or excitement in his scientific yet illustrious career, he deemed it acceptable to put his time and effort into an area of study he'd actually enjoy. And he didn't quit his job blindly. He had a plan. After about a year of working firsthand with patients suffering from psychosis, Carlos would write a book or two about his studies and be set for life. It was a perfectly logical plan, he thought. He didn't care much about the money, he was already pretty well off. Hell, he could have retired young and comfortable if he'd waited about 5 years. But this wasn't about achieving an eventual rich, luxurious lifestyle. This was about expanding the mind and contributing to society.

And it began today.

* * *

Carlos woke promptly at 6:00 a.m., disabling his standard alarm buzzer not even 5 seconds after it rang and rubbing his eyes, blinking in the dark, shaded room. He was dressed in under 10 minutes, exchanging his flannel pajamas for what was going to be his daily outfit for the next few years: standard business attire and a white coat. Carlos vaguely recalled hearing that most psychiatrists dressed somewhat casually, but, he wanted to be professional. He poured himself a bowl of Multi Grain Cheerios and ate breakfast at the small table in his 2 bedroom apartment.

For a bachelor, he didn't have a particularly desirable taste in style. He knew most would deem him "dull", with his black, silver, and purple decor patterns. But he didn't really care. It helped him think. Too much color would be distracting. He smiled softly at the sun shining in through his window, getting up to wash his bowl and put it away. Remembering he'd be dealing with patients in various mental states, Carlos practiced smiling as kindly and calmly as possible. He contemplated bringing a journal to take notes for his book, but didn't have time when he looked at the clock.

Living in the city had seemed like a good idea at the time he'd moved, getting a "fresh start" after making a career change, but it put him 20 minutes from the hospital, and Carlos needed to be there at 7:15 a.m., exactly. This was not a good day to be late. Not that the scientist believed _any_ day was a good day to be late. He hopped into his car at 6:57 a.m., stressed about the time. **_  
_**

Carlos apologized when he arrived at the psychiatric hospital 8 minutes late. "There's no excuse," he told his boss. "I left a few minutes late, and hit every red light on the w-"

"Calm down, kid," the older man said with a smirk. "Head on over to the recreation room, pronto. Someone'll give you a tour."

Carlos nodded and excused himself, walking silently down the hall.

"To the left," his boss said.

"Right, sorry," the new employee mumbled, shaking his head as he turned around.

* * *

"This is Josie," an orderly named Steve said. He pointed at a woman who was sitting at a table, coloring a dark figure with what Carlos determined to be wings. "Crazy old bitch thinks she sees angels."

Carlos frowned at his fellow employee's disrespect, following as the 40-something already gray Caucasian man walked to the end of the recreation room.

He pointed to an older man who sat alone, mumbling something that sounded like a chant in another language. "Boris," Steve said, "thinks he's an Indian."

Nodding, Carlos figured that the orderly meant Native American, judging by the drawings Boris' was sketching on various sheets of paper, and Steve's apparent incompetence.

"End of tour." Steve faced Carlos with a dull expression, walking out of the recreation room and into a hallway. Carlos followed, stopping upon noticing a patient's room near the end of the hall.

"What about him?" Carlos asked, gesturing to the open door of a man who sat silently on his bed. He looked to be about Carlos' age, with wavy blonde hair that contrasted nicely with his bright blue eyes, not that Carlos noticed. He estimated that the man was about 5'11", two inches taller than himself. He had good posture, his lanky form sitting cross-legged on his bed, hands in his lap. He was staring at the wall across from him.

"That's Cecil," Steve said. "Weirdest one here."

Cecil looked up at the mention of his name, scowling at Steve before he noticed the new psychiatrist standing beside him. His eyes brightened as they swept over Carlos' body. Cecil smiled, taking in the man's dark, curly hair, which dangled loosely around his ears. He met Carlos' big, brown eyes and grinned dumbly. Carlos smiled back, then turned to Steve.

"Alright," he said. "Now what?"

Steve snorted. "Now the fun begins." He forced a three-ring binder into the scientist's hands. "You get to study all their files and 'socialize'."

Carlos nodded, absently opening the binder and pulling out Cecil's file. He looked up, and, upon noticing that Steve had left him, walked toward Cecil Palmer's room.

* * *

**AUTHOR NOTE: Alright, so, originally Carlos was gonna be a nurse, but I thought he'd get more personal with Cecil if he was a psychiatrist. So. Again, any tips on writing or any corrections over what I've said regarding psychiatric hospitals are welcome.**


	3. Chapter 2: And I Fell In Love Instantly

Cecil's heart raced as he watched the new psychiatrist approach his room. The man knocked on the outside of the wall lightly.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked lightheartedly, a small smile gracing his strong-featured face.

"Uh-uh," Cecil managed to say, if only in an airy mumble.

"I'm Carlos," the man said, taking a seat in the chair across from Cecil after shaking his hand briefly. "I'm your new psychiatrist."

"Uh-huh," Cecil said, leaning forward a bit and resting his chin on his hands. He blinked a few times, then shook his head. "I'm Cecil."

Carlos nodded, looking down at the file in his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, meeting Cecil's gaze, "I probably shouldn't be reading this in front of you."

The patient smiled knowingly. "I'm aware of my condition." He looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. "Most of the time," he mumbled.

"What's that?"

Cecil's face reddened as he looked back up at the man. "I've learned to recognize hallucinations when I see them. Like... the floating cat in the bathroom," he chuckled. "I know it's not real. But... sometimes I have 'episodes'," he said, using air quotes.

Carlos leaned forward with interest. "What happens during these episodes?"

"Well... I'm not really there, you know?" Cecil shrugged. "I don't remember. But I'm told that I," he deepened his voice, "put on a news radio voice and talk about 'Night Vale'."

"'Night Vale'?" Carlos glanced down at the patient's file, as if expecting to find clarification.

Looking at the barred window to his right, Cecil nodded. "Some creepy town my subconscious created. Sometimes I actually see things from there, even not during an episode. But I can usually tell it's a hallucination."

"You say there's a," Carlos looked back up, "floating cat in your bathroom?"

Cecil chuckled, biting his lip as he avoided eye contact with the man. "Yeah. His, uh... his name is Khoshekh, I guess... He's actually a pretty recent addition to my hallucinations."

Carlos hummed, searching Cecil's file for any further explanation. "So, besides all that," he said as he closed the binder, "you're pretty normal?"

Cecil liked that it didn't sound like a question. He smiled. "Mostly." It felt like a lie. He knew that, yeah, okay, besides the psychotic episodes, he was a sane guy. Which Cecil thought was a ridiculous claim, considering, uh... _psychotic episodes_. But even without them, he would never have called himself "normal". He'd always been a quirky kid, too loud and weird when he wasn't being introspectively silent. He'd learned early on in elementary school to keep his vivid imagination and speculative ideas to himself, but, even then, he had a hard time making friends. Cecil wondered if this meant that he'd been destined to be a schizophrenic, or if he was just a weird, unpopular little kid. Either way, he knew he had never been "normal". But, if _Carlos_ wanted to think so, well, then, who was Cecil to correct him?

"So," Carlos said, "you don't respond to medication?"

"Unfortunately, no." Cecil leaned back, resting against the wall his bed was pushed up against. "I'm, uh... kinda stuck in here, since... I have no one to take care of me. No one to make sure I don't do any harm." The patient glanced down at his hands in his lap, thinning his lips.

"No... family?"

Cecil shook his head. "My mother passed away just a few months after I was admitted. I have no other family..."

"And you can never leave because...?" Carlos shifted in his seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Because I might hurt myself... or someone else, I guess." Cecil looked down, uncomfortable, worried that the new psychiatrist would write him off as a freak. _You're in a psychiatric hospital, Cecil,_ his negative mind reminded, _you _are _a freak, and you've got no chance with this guy_. Cecil tried to ignore the part of him that put him down, but, it was hard to, this time. "I was brought here because I tried to chop an imaginary growth off of myself. I lost a lot of blood..."

Carlos nodded, reading what Cecil assumed was a more in-depth version of the story in his file. "Well, I'm glad you ended up okay, anyway."

"You mean besides..." Cecil gestured around the dull, safe room they sat in.

"Uh, right," Carlos said, an awkward chuckle following the silence.

Cecil clenched his jaw. _You're making him uncomfortable, Cecil..._ "Sorry, I, uh... It's not so bad, here," he lied. He sat up, his face brightening as he looked back up at Carlos. "And now that _you're_ here, I'm sure it'll get even better!"

Chuckling, Carlos stood. "Well, I don't know about that." Cecil could swear the man had started to blush. "Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Cecil. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other quite often from now on."

The man left before Cecil could say much else than "bye". He watched Carlos leave, a grin creeping onto his face as he decided that he very much approved of the latest addition to the staff.

* * *

**AUTHOR NOTE: Apologies for delays and somewhat short chapters. I want this one to be good, so, I'm taking more time to write. -_-**


	4. Chapter 3: Being Professional

**AUTHOR NOTE: So sorry for the delay! I've been battling writer's block, lately. -_- I really want the quality of this fic to be awesome, so, I only write when I know I can do a legitimate job. Thank you for your patience!**

* * *

"So," Steve asked, "how's freakshow doing?"

"I'm sorry?" Carlos frowned at the orderly, having just exited Cecil's room. He clung to his folder, on his way to greet the other patients.

"That Cecil, he's quite a character, isn't he?"

"I didn't talk to him for long. He seems fine-"

"Oh, you just wait 'til he does his thing," Steve laughed, leaning lazily against the wall. "Freaky little guy."

Shaking his head, Carlos brushed past his co-worker. "I don't wish to discuss this with you. Excuse me." He decided he really did _not_ like Steve Carlsberg.

* * *

It was only ten minutes later that Carlos heard shouting from a hallway across from his compact office. He looked up from his desk, paperwork and patient files scattered messily, and stood when he heard a young woman shouting for help.

Making his way down the hall as quickly as possible, he met the girl in a patient's room and shouted for orderlies to restrain the man, who was clawing at them as though he was under attack. Soon, Steve and another orderly named Telly had the patient secured.

"Are you alright?" Carlos asked the young woman.

"Yeah, I'll be alright. I'm Dana, I'm an interning nurse here." Dana extended a hand with a youthful grin.

"Carlos, I'm the new psychiatrist." He turned and walked out of the room with Dana following closely behind.

"That's great! How are you liking the job so far?"

"It's been… interesting," Carlos answered. He gestured to Cecil's door as they walked by. "How much do you know about this one?"

Dana smiled, waving at Cecil, who waved back. She continued to the end of the hall, then stopped. "He's a bit odd."

"But not completely insane?"

"He… well, take yesterday for instance. He was going on and on about some 'dog park'," Dana explained. "He says we can't go there, and that there are 'hooded figures' that are dangerous, or something."

Carlos frowned. "During an episode, you mean? When he thinks he's on a news radio show...?"

Dana shook her head. "He knew he wasn't in a studio," she revealed, "but... he was convinced that I was interning there and that I needed to be careful."

"I thought his episodes were limited to the news radio... That is, I mean... He told me he knew about his condition, and the episodes...?"

"He does… he just has episodes more than he realizes." The corners of Dana's lips turned down as she looked at the floor. "He's a really sweet guy, but… he has no idea how often he's not really all here, if you know what I mean."

Nodding, Carlos began walking back toward his office. "I see. Thank you, uh…"

"Dana."

"Dana, right. Sorry," Carlos said. "I'll be seeing you, then."

* * *

Once back at his desk, Carlos retrieved a notebook from his bag and took a deep breath, using his teeth to pull off the cap of his pen.

"Has… more… episodes… than aware of," he mumbled as he scribbled down notes on his paper. Sighing, Carlos pursed his lips and leaned forward in his chair. He pulled his reading glasses out of his coat pocket, squinting before putting them on. "Doesn't… always... occur at-"

"Hi, uhm, Carlos?"

Carlos lifted his head to find the very patient he was taking notes on, standing in his doorway. "Oh," he said, "you're… out of your room." Setting his pen down, the psychiatrist nodded and gestured to the empty chair at his desk. "Come on in and sit down, Cecil."

Quick to obey, Cecil scurried over to the seat, bumping into the desk and blushing. "Sorry, uhm..."

"Is there a reason you came to see me?" Carlos asked, seemingly oblivious to the patient's awkwardness. He hid his notes under other files on the desk.

Biting his lip, Cecil smiled. "I... wanted to see you again before you left."

"I won't be leaving until 4 o'clock," Carlos said, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "That's in 7 hours and 24 minutes..."

Cecil beamed. "You work until 4? Every day?! You'll be here for 8 hours and... 45 minutes? _Every day_?!"

"Uh, yes... Is there something you wanted to talk to me about, Cecil?"

"Youhaveperfecthair," the patient blurted out.

A small smile graced the psychiatrist's lips for a moment. "Thank you," he said. "Is... is that all?"

Cecil was blushing, biting his tongue as he shook his head. "N-no, I, uhm... why are you here?"

"I work here..."

Chuckling nervously, Cecil leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "I know, I mean... why?"

Carlos shrugged, glancing down at the files on his desk to make sure there was nothing the patient shouldn't see. "I became interested in psychology."

"So... you weren't a psychiatrist before?"

"I was a research scientist. I studied-"

"I like science!"

"...That's... good." Carlos sat up straighter in his chair, deciding this conversation was heading nowhere. "If you don't have anything to discuss with me, Cecil, I really must get back to my paperwork."

Glancing away, Cecil shook his head and moved to stand up. "Right, right. Sorry."

"That's alright," Carlos said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Cecil. We'll talk more in depth, then." He paused, looking thoughtfully at the man who stood before him. "And... try and think of something... relevant to say the next time we meet, yeah?"

"Oh, sure," Cecil nodded, backing away slowly. "S-sorry... I... I'll see you tomorrow," the patient mumbled as he exited the office, closing the door on his way out.

Carlos frowned, shuffling through his files to find the notepad he'd been writing on earlier. He picked up his pen once more and made note of Cecil's behavior. "Doesn't always occur at... news radio... station...," he mumbled as he wrote. Tearing off the page, he flipped the paper. "Is also... awkward... and..." Carlos stopped writing, biting the end of his pen as he replayed the scene in his head. He thinned his lips, crossing out his words before setting the pen down. "He was just being friendly," the psychiatrist whispered. A thought arose that Cecil had been a little _too_ friendly, but Carlos quickly dismissed the idea as he shook his head. He cursed himself for being so stoic, so "professional". _That's not what this job is about_, he reminded himself. Patients would open up to him more if he treated them as _friends_, not patients. He'd had that concept drilled into him countless times in med school.

Being friendly was something Carlos had always struggled with, even as a child. It wasn't that he wasn't _nice_, he just... had trouble connecting to people. He was too logical, and he knew that. One of the reasons he'd become so interested in the human mind was his own social ineptitude. He knew he could change, and that it was something he should work on, but... he was so curious, so eager to study and learn, that he didn't care much about his personal relationships. But, these subjects weren't inanimate objects to be studied, anymore. Now, he was dealing with people. Carlos realized that the study of the human mind would greatly involve the human heart. _Well, _figurative_ heart_, he corrected himself.

He sighed, turning his attention back to his notepad. He was going to do better next time, he decided. He hoped.


	5. Chapter 4: Father

**AUTHOR NOTE: So sorry for the delay, once again! **

* * *

Cecil got about 4 hours of sleep, racking his brain for a decent conversation subject the next day. By the time his door unlocked and opened, he was already up and at it again.

"My father!" he finally shouted, startling another patient who had been walking past his room.

"I'm not your father," the man said defensively. "I'm nobody's father!"

Blushing, Cecil leaned over the edge of his bed to look at the other patient. "John! I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"You are my son?" John asked, marching closer to Cecil's room.

"No," Cecil said. "John, you don't have a son. I mean, I don't _think_ you have a son. If you _did_, I wouldn't be him."

"I am not your father."

"Right. You're not my father. You're not related to me in any way."

Looking hopelessly at the younger man, John's voice wavered. "Then what am I?"

"Um... a farmer?" Cecil offered.

John nodded. "Yes. Yes, that's right! I am John Peters. I'm a farmer."

"Alright, now, on your way, John Peters the Farmer," Cecil encouraged, climbing out of bed and guiding the man to the hallway. "Wouldn't wanna miss breakfast, would we?"

"Of course not, son." John smiled and walked a little faster, leaving Cecil standing quietly in his doorway.

"Not your son!" Cecil said. He quieted his voice and walked back to his bed, sitting so that his legs dangled over the edge. "My father. They always ask about your father." Standing with an eager grin, Cecil took off toward Carlos' office.

"Hey, Cecil!" Dana called as he passed the cafeteria. "Aren't you gonna have breakfast?"

Stopping for only a moment, the patient informed the kind young nurse that he was "about to see Carlos!" and took off again.

"I see where your priorities are…," Dana mumbled before returning her attention to another patient.

Carlos was sitting at his desk when Cecil arrived.

"Um, hi."

The psychiatrist looked up when he heard the other man, standing in his doorway with his long arms at his side. "Oh, hey, Cecil. What is it?"

Taking a few steps into the room, Cecil grinned. "Want to know about my father?"

Carlos raised an eyebrow, then let out a light chuckle as he leaned back in his chair. "Right. Well, Cecil, we're supposed to be meeting every day, as you know..."

Cecil nodded.

"...But I have other patients to meet with, as well. There needs to be a schedule, you see."

Biting his lip, Cecil looked down. "I see." He was _not_ jealous of the other patients, he was _not_.

"I can meet with you every day at 11:00 in the morning," Carlos said. "Sound good?"

Cecil nodded eagerly. "Of course! I'll… see you then!"

"Yeah, so hold on to that thought about your father, got it?" the psychiatrist called as Cecil stepped backed toward the door.

"Got it!"

* * *

When Carlos finally got around to Cecil's room, he was startled to find the patient standing near his bathroom sink, moving his hand as though he were petting the air there.

"Um, Cecil?"

The man didn't move, save his continuous petting.

"...Cecil."

Nothing.

"Cecil!"

Finally turning around, Cecil's face dropped as he realized the psychiatrist had witnessed his behavior.

"What… uh, what were you doing?" Carlos asked, ushering the man out of the bathroom.

Cecil avoided eye contact as he took a seat on his bed. "I, uh… there was a cat."

"A cat?" Carlos asked, sitting across from the patient. He shifted uncomfortably in the firm, ugly green chair. "A cat in mid-air?"

Nodding, Cecil bit his lip. "I… may have been hallucinating." He wrung his hands together nervously. _I am so weird, _he told himself._ I have no chance..._

"Clearly." The psychiatrist frowned, then shook his head. "Anyway… you wanted to tell me about your father?"

Cecil perked up, finally making eye contact with the other man. _Good, moving on_. "I don't remember him," he grinned.

"Is… is this a good thing?"

Shrugging, Cecil said, "Well, I don't remember him, so, it's hard to say if he would have been a good memory or not."

Chuckling, Carlos nodded. "This is true." He got out a pen and opened his notebook. "Do you wish you'd known your father?"

"My mother said we didn't need him, so-"

"But what do _you_ think?"

"Well, doesn't every child need a father?"

"That's a common belief, yes."

"But… what do _you_ think?" Cecil smirked.

Setting his pen down, Carlos leaned forward in his chair. "I think growing up without a father figure can pose various problems for an individual, especially later in life," he said. "But I doubt it would cause a, uh…"

"Mental illness?" Cecil offered, scooting back on his bed until he could lean against the wall.

"Well, yes."

Smiling, Cecil nodded and crossed his arms. "I figured."

"Then why did you want to talk about your father?"

"Because… because that's what psychiatrists like to talk about." He sat up, uncrossing his arms and looking into the other man's brown, bespectacled eyes. "Right?"

"I think that stereotype pertains more to psychologists."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Carlos glanced at the watch on his wrist.

"So… how long do we get?"

"Pardon?"

"Our daily meetings," Cecil said. "How long are they?"

"Oh. Half an hour?"

A small smile crept onto the patients face. "You don't know?"

"I'm a bit disorganized as of late," Carlos admitted. "I'll get everything figured out eventually."

"Not everything is meant to be figured out," Cecil said, his voice deepening.

"A profound observation, indeed," Carlos said, prompting the smile on Cecil's face to spread into a grin.

Cecil's grin faded, his heart leaping in his chest as he watched the other man stare at him. His breathing deepened as he looked back at Carlos. _He's looking at me. He's _looking_ at me_. It ended all too soon as Carlos stood from his chair.

"I must apologize for my disorganization," the psychiatrist said. "I'm not sure half an hour is necessary, especially since we seem to have nothing further to talk about."

Shaking his head quickly, Cecil stood. "No, no, no! It's okay! We can, uh, I can think of someth-"

"Cecil."

"Yes?"

"I have paperwork to do, and I need to figure out a schedule." Carlos offered a small smile to the discouraged patient. "I'll see you around?"

Nodding, Cecil averted his gaze to the floor as Carlos exited the room. His solemn expression vanished not even ten seconds later as his radio persona took over and he sat in his chair, beginning his next broadcast.

* * *

**Aaaaand end scene!**

**Maybe not the next chapter but definitely by the one after it, time will start progressing quicker. Meaning, it won't be a day-by-day thing, but a few days may go by between chapters or maybe even weeks or months. **


End file.
